


Learning to Deserve You

by ceemobster



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Slow Burn, but not really bc it's only 4000+ words, post bvs duh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:16:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceemobster/pseuds/ceemobster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I was angry and foolish and <em>wrong</em>, and I don't expect you to forgive me." He didn't know what he <em>should</em> say, so he figured he might as well start by being honest. "I made a promise that I wouldn't fail you in death. Circumstances may have changed, but I intend to keep that promise."</p>
<p>The first ten meetings between Bruce and Clark after Clark comes back from the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Deserve You

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the DCEU verse, but I stole some essences from Frank Miller's TDKR.  
> I haven't seen the BvS ultimate edition and this is how I cope, sshhh.

The first time they met again, Bruce tried to apologise. It felt like one of the hardest things he'd done in a while. Not because he wasn't remorseful, of course. Quite the contrary. It was because his remorse was so great that he didn't think there was any point in apologising. It was because his guilt was so _immense_ that he felt he didn't deserve a chance at forgiveness. But Clark deserved to hear it from him, so he tried his best.

"I was angry and foolish and _wrong_ , and I don't expect you to forgive me." He didn't know what he _should_ say, so he figured he might as well just be honest. "I made a promise that I wouldn't fail you in death. Circumstances may have changed, but I intend to keep that promise."

Clark smiled at that. It looked a bit sad, unlike the smile in the pictures that Martha Kent had shown him, but still genuine. Bruce reminded himself that he had tried to rid the world of this man, an honest soul, a _saviour_. It sent daggers straight through his heart. He wished he was bleeding, he wished Clark would hurt him, he wished Clark would tell him to go and never return.

"My mother told me what she knew, what I've missed on the news and what you've told her," Clark said instead. "But of course you know more than that. So tell me."

So Bruce did. He told him about Lex Luthor's warning, about the "bell" and what he believed it meant. He told him about Diana and what she had been doing for Metropolis in Clark's absence. He told him about Barry Allen, Arthur Curry, and Victor Stone. He told him about the Justice League and what he was shaping it up to be.

"They would want to meet you," Bruce said at the end, leaning against the hood of his car.

Clark tilted his head. "Would?"

Bruce nodded. "As of now, I believe your mother, your fiancée, my butler, and I are the only ones who are aware of your return." The latter two had found out solely because Bruce had kept in touch with Martha, had watched over her to the best of his abilities. "Whether or not you want anyone else to know is entirely up to you."

Clark smiled again, a bit less sad this time, still as genuine. "Thank you."

Bruce left the farm not long after that. He didn't deserve any more of Clark's kindness. Just like he hadn't deserved any of Martha's the past three years.

* * *

The second time they met again caught Bruce by surprise. It had been nine days since their meeting at the farm and he came home from work finding Alfred and Clark laughing together in his kitchen.

"Hi, Bruce."

Bruce only nodded in response, unable to think of a response good enough for the soft smile on Clark's face.

Alfred left them shortly after that. Bruce asked Clark about Martha and Lois, and Clark answered every question politely, telling him that they were well. In return, Clark asked him about the League, and he extended the same courtesy.

"I think I'm ready," Clark said, his tone careful but final.

"Ready for what?"

"To meet them," Clark replied with a nod. "If you're alright with that."

Bruce wanted to stab himself. Of _course_ he was alright with it. Clark was free to do whatever he wanted. The Justice League was built partly in his honour, for god's sake. He didn't need to ask for anyone's permission to meet them, much less Bruce's. Of _course_ Bruce was alright with it. _Of course, of course, of course_.

"Of course," Bruce said, and it fell flat despite his train of thought. "I'll let them know."

Clark flew away soon after that, with a promise that he would wait for Bruce's call.

* * *

The third time they met again was almost like a party. Bruce, Diana, Barry, Arthur, and Victor had been waiting for some time when Clark flew into the cave. Needless to say, they were all happy to see him. Diana hugged him like an old friend, which he returned in earnest. Bruce had to smile at the sight of the League welcoming Clark with such fervour and respect.

"Does this mean you're joining us?" Barry asked Clark.

Bruce immediately tensed. He glared at the speedster, fists clenched. "You don't get to ask that, Barry." As far as he was concerned, nobody got to ask that. Nobody had the right to put Clark in that position.

But Clark only smiled. "It's alright, Bruce," he said gently. "I'm... still considering what I want to do, Barry, but with the five of you in the League, I'm confident the world is in good hands."

Bruce continued to spend the rest of the night in his seat, observing the exchanges between Clark and the League members. He distantly realised that he would feel himself smiling whenever he saw Clark smile. Later on, alone in his room, he reminded himself that he still did not deserve to be on the receiving end of that smile.

* * *

The fourth time they met again, Martha cooked for them. Clark had invited Bruce over for dinner, apparently at Martha's consistent behest to do so.

"I asked her why she didn't just call you herself, she said it's because you're my friend," Clark said at the table that night, chuckling.

"Well, it's true!" Martha said. "It's just been too long since you last visited, Bruce. How long has it been, a month?"

"Yes, I believe so," Bruce answered with a small smile. _One month and four days_.

"I think Bruce is as much your friend as he is mine, Ma."

Bruce froze at that, dropping his fork on his plate, then quickly covered his lapse in composure with a cough. He caught Clark looking at him curiously before getting back to his dinner. Fortunately, Clark was gracious enough not to ask.

Martha decided to turn in an hour after dinner was over, but Clark asked Bruce to stay a while longer. He complied. They sat on the steps of the front porch, under bright stars characteristic to places with little light pollution, talking about everything and nothing in particular.

"Your fiancée alright?" Bruce eventually asked, completely expecting the usual 'She's fine'.

Instead, Clark gave him a wry smile. "I haven't been completely straight with you."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, no, Lois is fine," Clark said in a hurry, apparently catching the worry in Bruce's voice. "It's just... She isn't exactly my fiancée. Hasn't been in a while."

Bruce did not say anything in response, wasn't sure if it was his place to ask, but he gave Clark a look that hopefully said 'You can talk to me if you want to'.

Clark sighed. "I _died_ on her, Bruce. I was dead for three years." His voice sounded tired, as if he'd told this story one too many times, but Bruce couldn't think of anyone else Clark could have talked about it with other than Martha and Lois herself. Both Clark Kent and Superman were still officially dead after all. "I'm just glad she can move on. We still keep in touch, but... She's better off this way."

"And what about you? How do _you_ feel?" Bruce asked before he could stop himself.

"I'm alright," Clark said, shrugging. "Sure it stung, for the both of us, it still does sometimes, but it's a mutual decision. We both know it's better this way."

"That sounds... mechanical."

Clark laughed. "That's rich coming from you."

In his very core, Bruce still believed he did not deserve being on the receiving end of Clark's smile. He certainly did not deserve sharing this peaceful, intimate moment with Clark. Most of all, he did not, would not in a million years, deserve Clark's friendship. But despite his better judgement, he allowed himself to laugh with him.

* * *

The fifth time they met again, Bruce had more parts in bandages than not, had more bruises than he had teeth, thanks to an overwhelming number of Black Mask's thugs from the previous night. It hadn't been a failed mission. He'd extracted the required information and left the lowlifes for the police to find, but not before taking a few good hits. It put him under Alfred's enforced bed-rest, so when Clark came, he had no choice but to see him in his bedroom.

"What happened?" Clark asked, sounding like he was the one in pain.

"Just some local thugs." Bruce gave him half a smile. "These things happen every once in a while, but I'll be standing in two days."

Clark did not only sound like he was in pain, he also looked like it. "Bruce..." He quickly pulled a chair from the corner of the room and sat down next to the bed.

Bruce felt his throat constricting. He did _not_ deserve this. He did not deserve Clark feeling sorry for him, not when he had been ready to spare him no mercy only three years before. Bruce coughed and the action shook his whole frame, shooting fresh bouts of pain throughout his body. Clark laid a gentle hand on the back of his neck, cradling him.

"Why did you come, Clark?" Bruce asked when he could breathe again. "You didn't know I was injured." He briefly wondered if Alfred had thought it a good idea to inform Clark of his injuries. "Even if you did, there's still no reason to come."

Clark frowned. "I would've been here sooner if I knew." His voice was indignant, defensive, like Bruce had offended him somehow. "Were you ever going to tell me, if I hadn't come?"

"No," Bruce answered honestly.

Clark visibly flinched. "And here I was, thinking that we'd become friends."

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed, exhaustion and anger wrapped up into one long breath. "Stop saying that."

"What?"

"That we're..." he trailed off. "I _hurt_ you, Clark. I almost..."

Clark did not respond immediately. Bruce, eyes still closed and too much of a coward to open them, could only hear the man sitting beside him taking heavy breaths for a while. He half hoped that Clark would not be there when he opened his eyes again.

"I've made my peace with that," Clark said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but there was a sharp edge to it, as if he was putting great effort to keep it from breaking. "I thought I decided to forgive you before that dinner with Ma two weeks ago, but that's not true. I've forgiven you for much, _much_ longer than that."

Bruce dared himself to open his eyes. Clark was looking right at him, blue eyes coated with a glassy layer of moisture. They looked strikingly like the lake outside his window, Bruce noted. Beautiful, but with a sad kind of beauty.

"Can you make your peace with it, Bruce?" Clark continued. "Can you accept that you're forgiven?"

_I don't deserve it_ , Bruce wanted to say. _I can't accept it because I don't deserve it_. _I can't accept it because it's not mine to take_. "Why did you really come here?" he said instead.

To his surprise and confusion, Clark reacted by blushing. It was a subtle kind of blush, but a blush nonetheless, painting his flawless cheeks pink. Bruce wanted to reach out and touch them, knowing full well he couldn't, and not because of his injuries.

Clark smiled, looking impish. "I actually came here just to see you."

"Well, here I am," Bruce said weakly. He recalled saying the same exact words to Clark once, in a different time, in a different place, under different circumstances. That moment still haunted his dreams every night, but with Clark beside him, smiling, he could almost pretend it was nothing but a nightmare.

After Alfred administered his medicines, Bruce could not stay awake for long. He descended into a deep, restful sleep, free of nightmares for the first time in a long time. When he woke, he found Clark still in the chair beside him, fast asleep.

* * *

The sixth time they met again, Bruce Wayne was a hostage. He had been taken on his way back to his car after stopping by a mini-mart to get some mints. Apparently someone thought it was a good idea to kidnap billionaire Bruce Wayne and threaten him for his bank account information. The three people tying him up in the abandoned warehouse not a mile away from the mini-mart were obviously new to their chosen line of work, naïve enough to think they could get away with a crime that would draw public attention like nothing else. Bruce decided to play along for a while. At the moment he was Bruce Wayne after all, not Batman.

"You're making a mistake!" Bruce snarled. It was equal parts scared and angry, which was exactly what he was going for.

"You're the one who'd be making a mistake if you don't do what we say," the tallest man of the three threatened. "Just tell us what we want and maybe we'll let you have all your fingers."

Bruce shuddered, straining against the knot around his wrists that he could get out of in less than three seconds. "You'll regret this," he spat. "I have friends... You won't get away with this."

"What, the bat?" the man sneered. "It's day time, he don't come out day time."

As if on cue, the door to the warehouse was kicked open with a loud bang. It wasn't part of Bruce's plan, but the police's arrival only made his job that much easier. He no longer needed to knock the men cold and come up with a believable story of how the Batman went out in daylight and rescued Bruce Wayne from his abductors. The police had come to rescue him instead.

But it wasn't the police that came rushing into the room. It was Superman. And he _floated_ in. Bruce stared, knowing he probably looked just as dumbstruck as his kidnappers, and it wasn't even an act this time.

"No, not the bat," Superman said, actually _grinning_.

"You-you're- No!" one of the men stammered, incapable of forming a coherent sentence. Bruce couldn't blame him. "You're dead!" the one who had threatened Bruce earlier screamed.

"I was," Superman said, _still_ grinning.

What happened after that was a blur of red and blue to Bruce. When it was over, the thugs were huddled together in the centre of the room, tied up with their own ropes, looking at Superman like he was a ghost—which he was, in a way. Bruce figured they probably didn't even try to put up a fight.

"Are you alright, Mr Wayne?" Superman asked. He was still floating a few inches above the floor, hair slick, suit bright, looking absolutely glorious.

Bruce swallowed, still in shock. "I'm fine." _Too steely_ , he thought, and then quickly adjusted himself, flashing the lazy smirk characteristic to his playboy billionaire persona. "More than fine, now that I've been rescued."

Superman made quick work of the ropes around his wrists and ankles, snapping them without any visible effort. Bruce dialled the police once he was free to retrieve his phone that one of the kidnappers had kicked off to the far end of the room.

"Thank you. They'll be here in ten minutes."

Superman nodded and turned towards the door.

"Superman," Bruce said, grabbing Superman's wrist lightly. "Would you let me thank you properly? It'd be an honour to have you over for dinner." That should translate to 'Meet me at my house' well enough, Bruce thought.

Superman raised his brows, and Bruce knew that the message was received and understood. "That's very kind of you, Mr Wayne, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass."

"Well, at least I can say that I tried," Bruce said, still smirking flirtatiously. "In any case... Welcome back."

Superman nodded and smiled, bright and genuine, and it wasn't Superman anymore. It was Clark.

* * *

The seventh time they met again, Superman was officially back. It had been hours since the kidnapping and it was still the only thing on the news, as evident by what was on the TV in his living room. Sitting on a plush chair, Bruce pulled up an article titled 'Superman alive, saves Bruce Wayne from abduction' on his tablet. The video below the text was of himself, regaling the cameras with the story of Superman's heroic rescue.

"You look positively smitten, Sir," Alfred commented over his shoulder.

Bruce chuckled. "I do."

"So, Bruce Wayne seemed taken with Superman," Clark said, rejoining Bruce and Alfred in the room after changing back to his civilian clothes. "The gossip blogs will like that."

"Smitten. Taken. Infatuated. They'll eat it up." Bruce scrolled down the article, looking at amateur pictures that people had managed to snap of Superman flying through Gotham's afternoon sky. "How did you know where I was?"

"Alfred," Clark answered.

"Of course." Bruce shrugged. Alfred had the means to access his cellphone's GPS tracker, microphone, and camera at all times, but that did not answer his question. "But that doesn't explain how _you_ knew."

"That would be because I told him, Sir," Alfred said, monotonous as ever.

Bruce gave his butler a look, but laughed. "Will I ever get a straight answer?"

"I was... in the area," Clark said. "I mean, I was here, at your house. I wanted to see you, but you weren't here. And I was just talking with Alfred. Then Alfred noticed that you should've been back home by then." He shrugged. "I made a decision. The rest is history, I guess."

Bruce quirked a smile, mildly amused by Clark's broken sentences. "I see. And the suit, did you take it all the way from Kansas?"

Clark winced at that. "Actually, I sort of hid the suit in the cave when I came to see you last week," he admitted meekly.

"So _that_ 's why you came."

"Partly."

Alfred left them alone not long after that, claiming there was dinner to prepare. Bruce knew the older man only wanted to give him and Clark privacy, which he was grateful for.

"When exactly did you decide you wanted to be back?" Bruce asked. "It had to be sometime before you left the suit in the cave."

"I think it's something I've always known," Clark replied, looking thoughtful. "I couldn't live in hiding forever, knowing that I could do so much more. Clark Kent cannot make a comeback, and he doesn't need to, but Superman... Superman _has_ to come back."

Bruce nodded. He understood what it felt like, to want to do more. He understood that sense of responsibility. "Thank you, Clark."

Clark chuckled in response. "You could've gotten out of there just fine without me."

"Not for that," Bruce said, shaking his head. "For giving humanity another chance."

Clark looked taken aback by his words, but nodded. Bruce decided not to pursue that particular subject.

There was one more question he needed to ask, though. "The suit." Bruce stood up, sliding his hands into his pocket. "Why did you put it here?"

"Because," he took a deep breath, "Because..." Clark chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "I hope this doesn't sound too weird, but I feel like I'm... tethered... to you."

"Tethered," Bruce repeated. "What have I done wrong?"

"No, no, not wrong. Tethered in a positive sense. Maybe, I don't know." He was blushing, profusely this time, cheeks turning redder than Bruce had ever seen. "You've been like... my own personal lighthouse, ever since I came back," Clark continued. "Even before I came back. You took care of my mother."

"It's the least I could do. After every-"

"My point is," Clark interjected before Bruce could go any further, "knowing you, knowing what you do, has helped reacquaint me with who I was before. I wanted to come back, but I wanted to talk it out with you first. That's why I left the suit here. I wanted you... involved." He laughed then. "I guess I ended up taking the 'involved' part to an extreme measure."

Bruce didn't laugh with him. He couldn't. His brain was completely haywire, trying to process the words that Clark had said to him. He actually had to sit back down. Clark shot him a questioning look, but fortunately didn't say anything.

How could he possibly be a lighthouse? To _Clark_ , nonetheless. He was darkness, had always been darkness. There wasn't a flicker of light in him. Sometimes he felt like nothing but an empty vessel of shadows, an empty vessel who had made one too many mistakes. He had failed Dick and he had lost Jason, and he had descended into a whole new level of darkness. It was Clark who had brought him back. It had taken Clark _dying_ for him to realise that men were essentially good. Perhaps Clark was _his_ lighthouse, but he didn't deserve to be Clark's.

"You haven't accepted it, have you?" Clark's voice broke through his thoughts, sounding tired. "You're a good person, Bruce, no matter what you think."

Clark agreed to stay for dinner at Alfred's insistence. When Alfred offered to prepare one of the guest rooms for him to stay the night, however, he politely refused, saying he needed to get back to his mother. Bruce watched him fly away with a feeling he could not pinpoint, his gaze remaining on the night sky long after the Man of Steel had disappeared from view.

* * *

The eighth time they met again, Clark told Bruce he wanted to be a part of the Justice League. He didn't ask for Bruce's permission this time, which Bruce was grateful for.

"This is what I have to do, Bruce," Clark said, loaded with conviction. "Superman has been back for eleven days. It's time."

"You've been counting."

"Yes," Clark admitted. "It's a strange feeling, you know. It feels new and exciting all over again, but at the same time it feels like sliding into your oldest, most tattered and worn out pyjamas."

Bruce snorted. "I don't know what _that_ feels like."

"Rich snob."

"Welcome to the Justice League."

Once again, they parted with Clark promising that he would wait for Bruce's call.

* * *

The ninth time they met again was at another party at the cave, only three days after Clark had made the decision to join the League. It got Bruce to seriously consider building a separate headquarter for the team. His cave was supposed to be a sanctuary, not a celebration venue. But Clark's smile was bright throughout the evening, and Bruce could not help thinking that the welcome party wasn't all that bad.

Eventually, perhaps also fortunately, it came to an end, and Diana, Arthur, Barry, and Victor all went on their way. Clark insisted that he wanted to stay a while and clean up. Alfred protested, but then he and Clark shared a meaningful look, and just like that, he decided to turn in for the night. Bruce frowned at them both. Alfred never let him help around the house, always saying that he would only make more mess. Why was Clark, a guest, the _special_ guest of the party, allowed to clean up?

"So you're just gonna let me do this by myself?" Clark asked. He was collecting dirty plates from around the room and arranging them in a stack.

Bruce grabbed a plate nearby and walked over to Clark's stack, still frowning. "I'm calling you the next time I'm sending Alfred on a vacation."

As they were cleaning up, Bruce decided to tell Clark about his research concerning Luthor's threat. He thought they should both pay Luthor a visit one of these days. Diana had told him what she knew, but he could always do with more information, and Clark being in the League might rattle Luthor enough to speak. Clark only listened for the most part, humming in agreement every once in a while.

"Thank you, Bruce, for getting me up to speed," Clark said as he bent down to put the last glass in the dishwasher.

"You're part of the League now," Bruce replied. "You need to know what's going on."

"And for everything else."

Bruce quirked a brow. "Everything else?"

Standing up, Clark pushed the dishwasher door closed with his leg. "Everything you've done for me." He looked Bruce in the eyes, smiling.

"Clark," Bruce sighed, genuinely exhausted. He could not go through _this_ again. He did not deserve Clark looking at him like this, smiling at him like this.

In that moment, looking at Clark was like looking at the sun. His eyes dropped to the floor, unable to hold the gaze, but Clark caught his chin with soft fingers and gently pushed his face back up. Bruce shuddered at the touch.

"You still haven't accepted it," Clark said, and it wasn't a question. The hand on Bruce's chin moved up and caressed his cheek.

"Clark," Bruce repeated, breathed out the name. It was the most he could do, the only world he could say. _Clark, Clark, Clark_. He did not deserve this, did not deserve _him_. Bruce tried not to lean into the palm on his cheek and failed.

"Bruce," Clark called back, voice as gentle as his hand.

Bruce's eyes snapped open, though he did not remember when he had closed them. He was met with bright blue irises and dark pupils calling him, beckoning him to step closer, but he held his ground. Bruce was not the kind of man who took what was not his to take. Clark was unequivocally, without a doubt, _not_ his to take.

But then Clark closed the distance and pressed his lips against Bruce's, and he was drowning.

Against his better judgement, he responded to the kiss, lips moving together with Clark's. Clark's other hand moved up to cup his other cheek, and he did not know when it had happened, but both his hands were holding Clark's waist. Everything around them melted away and he was falling and drowning and _nothing_ made sense, but he could not stop himself.

Clark pulled away after what could have been seconds or minutes or hours, and Bruce opened his eyes, once again not remembering when he had closed them. He was met with a light blush across Clark's cheeks. It was beautiful, just like everything else about him was. Clark flew away not long after that, but not before he promised Bruce that he would be back the next day.

* * *

The tenth time they met again, Bruce tried to apologise. They were curled up together in his bed, bodies heaving from their afterglow, breathing in unison. Clark's skin was warm to the touch and Bruce revelled in it. He held him tight, keeping Clark's head snug in the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry," Bruce whispered, not for the first time that night. "For everything I did to you."

"Stop apologising," Clark mumbled into Bruce's neck, sounding like he was already half asleep. "It's unbecoming on you."

Bruce smiled. He did not deserve this. He did not deserve Clark's kindness, Clark's smile, Clark's touch, Clark's affection. He did not deserve Clark and he probably never would. But with Clark on his side, perhaps, over time, he could learn how to.

**Author's Note:**

> "I haven't been completely _straight_ with you."  
>  I am, in fact, a child.


End file.
